


Breathe

by LilyThistle



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: F/M, there's just one bed, yes the rumors are true
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25259296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyThistle/pseuds/LilyThistle
Summary: “No,” she said firmly, suddenly coming to a decision. “I want you to sleep in the bed. With me.” Then, realizing how it sounded, she clarified, “I mean next to me. I want you to sleep on one side of the bed and I’m going to sleep on the other side.”
Relationships: Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon
Comments: 24
Kudos: 163





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr user utterleyobsessed sent me a message and was like, "You know what would be great? If you wrote a ‘oh no there is only one bed so we have to share but we are not dating but we have feelings for each other’ fic." And all I could hear was Black Phillip's voice from the movie The VVitch (2015), asking me, "Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?" and I thought, "Yes, I sure would like to write that".
> 
> Anyway, I was aiming for a sort of Twin Peaksian X-Files aesthetic with this fic, but my main inspiration probably was "Red Gold" and "Red Moon", especially that scene in "Red Moon" where Jane knocks on Lisbon's motel room window in the middle of the night and she looks like she could kill him.

Even the victim's family resented them being here.

"You big city cops just think we're too dumb to take care of our own problems."

"We've never needed your help before, and we don't need it now."

"This doesn't concern you; we can take care of ourselves."

Lisbon hated small towns, absolutely loathed them. Local law enforcement wasn’t cooperative, bystanders glared at them with hostility, and sometimes, like in this case, even the people they were trying to help wanted them gone. Lisbon had thought they would be able to solve the case in a day, but it was getting dark and they were no nearer to figuring out who had killed the small boy, and why. Even the terrain seemed to have something against her. Her car struggled making it up the steep roads, she almost had an accident because she didn’t see a truck coming at her through the thicket, and under the cover of the trees it was too cold for Lisbon’s taste. It smelled of wood and nature, and she was sure she would be eaten by a bear before she could solve the case. All she could do in the end was call Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt for backup.

The only person who fit right into this small, rural town close to the Oregon border was Jane. He had the locals wrapped around his little finger in less than two hours, and they told him all he needed to know about family feuds, stolen cars, high school drama, and love triangles. Only, he didn't use his insights to help Lisbon with the case, at least not fast enough. Instead, he'd spent the day in the only diner in town, a shabby little place with dirty floors and cheesy photographs on the walls, a playlist of the greatest hits from the eighties playing on repeat, chatting with anyone who came in, and flirting with the waitresses. He had left it to Lisbon to knock on people's doors, to argue their case with the chief of police, and to feel more frustrated with each passing minute. When she finally joined him in the diner just after eight, she felt like turning her back on the town and on Jane, who was sitting on a bar stool, his jacket draped across the counter, his sleeves rolled up, a mesmerized audience of three young women gathered around him. He was doing one of his card tricks and had them giggling at his sly remarks; what made it worse was that he was actually enjoying the attention. Lisbon rolled her shoulders and moved her head from side to side to bring relief to her aching back before dropping down in one of the booths, determined to enjoy a quiet dinner before finding a motel to spend the night in.

What Jane was doing was none of her business.

As soon as she had sat down, one of Jane's admirers picked up a pad and hurried over to her. She was even younger up close, no more than sixteen, her blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, a well-rehearsed smile on her lips that managed to make Lisbon feel welcome despite the resentment she felt deep down in the pit of her stomach. She ordered coffee (black) and a burger (with cheese fries), craving greasy food and caffeine. She thought she deserved it after the day she'd just had. The girl took down her order, then went to place it, and Lisbon closed her eyes for a moment and leaned back against the uncomfortably hard backrest, letting the exhaustion and frustration wash over her.

"Mind if I join you?"

_Don't you already have the attention of three women? No need to get greedy._

She surprised herself with how biting her thoughts were, how hateful, almost. This wasn't her. She didn't resent Jane for the attention he was getting from other people, other women. It was who he was, a showman, an entertainer, and this side of him had helped them close countless cases. So why was she suddenly feeling like this, like acting cruelly, like punishing him for being himself?

Lisbon opened her eyes slowly and focused them on Jane, standing in front of her, his jacket draped over his arm, a glass of soda in his hand, looking at her patiently, almost guardedly, and her anger suddenly stung a lot less. She sat up straight and nodded at the bench opposite hers and he slid into the space, his larger-than-life form looking so out of place in this small dingy diner in rural California that Lisbon couldn't keep down a smile.

"Any progress with the case?" Jane asked casually, pulling her right back down to reality.

She glared at him. "No. And you're not helping."

"I am," Jane defended himself.

_Flirting with the town's popular girls doesn't count._

"You haven't bothered showing up to a single interview."

"Ah, Lisbon," he said with a knowing smile, "I've told you before – you need to think outside the box."

"I need to solve this case."

Jane was unfazed by her frustration. "Just because I haven't been talking to the same people as you doesn't mean I haven't found out a thing or two."

The girl came back with a clean cup and a steaming pot of coffee. Lisbon watched her pour it, then thanked her, and took a sip. It was revolting and she wanted to spit it out, but her manners forced her to swallow it.

"That bad?" Jane asked.

Lisbon glanced at him, at the smile on his lips that made him look almost proud, as if he had just managed to pull a prank on her.

"You knew!" she gasped. "You knew it would be disgusting!"

He flashed her a bright smile. "You learn things like this when you talk to the locals."

Lisbon groaned. "I've been trying to do that all day." She buried her face in her hands and sighed. "I hate it here," she mumbled through her fingers.

"Hey." His voice was so soft it made her look up. "It's not all bad. I heard the sunrise is beautiful here, the sun coming up over the mountains, you know." He shrugged.

"Yeah well, damn the sunrise," Lisbon said through gritted teeth.

"Lisbon!" He sounded surprised, taken aback almost.

She exhaled slowly. "Sorry ... what did you learn, apart from the fact that the coffee is probably poisoned?"

"Food first," Jane decided. "You're not going to like what I have to tell you, but you're going to be more bearable with dinner in your stomach."

Lisbon glared at him but knew it was no use arguing. "You're not hungry?" she asked instead, nodding at his glass of soda.

He shrugged. "I already ate."

She could tell he was lying but she didn't press the matter. When she didn't say anything, he filled the silence with chit-chat about her day, asking her about the people she had met, about her opinion on the case, about anything that would keep her distracted until the food arrived. And while she answered his questions, told him about how the locals had treated her, about her frustration with the whole situation, her thoughts kept wandering to the scene she had stumbled upon when she had entered the diner.

It hadn't always been like this; Lisbon used to think it was funny when women flirted with Jane and had teased him about it. But something had changed during the last few months, gradually, stealthily, and now she couldn't make light of it anymore. She couldn’t deny it irked her, especially when he enjoyed doing it. Of course, she had no right to feel like this, she knew that much, but it had hurt her to find him flirting with three pretty young women while she had spent the day fighting her way through vegetation and swarms of poisonous bugs. He could have helped, but he had chosen the easy way out and enjoyed himself. It really wasn’t fair.

“Okay, spill,” he said suddenly. “I can see something is bothering you, and it’s more than the case.”

It was vital he never found out how it made her feel when he talked to other women. He would be unbearable if he did. She wouldn’t hear the end of it, and he would tease her about it for months. And she didn’t need his teasing if she hadn’t yet figured out herself why it was bothering her so. It was also unprofessional to talk about something like this to one of her colleagues. Yes, he was also her friend, but they were colleagues first, and it wasn’t her place to tell him how he was supposed to be doing his job, just as it wasn’t his place to tell her how she was supposed to be doing hers.

Finally, she settled on, “I could have used your help out there today.”

He smiled softly and said, with only a slight hint of teasing in his voice, “It’s nice to know that I’m needed.”

“Then why did you leave me to go out on my own?”

“We have different approached to the work we do,” Jane explained. “You like to go through the motions, follow the rules, walk down a well-trodden path. It gives you security, it makes you feel safe. I like to do the unexpected, I like to look for answers in a place you usually wouldn’t expect them to hide from you.”

Lisbon rolled her eyes, then looked at the waitress, who was carrying her dinner over to the table. She tried to relax her features, look friendly, but she could feel her right eyelid twitch, and it made her tense up even more.

“It’s not what you think,” Jane whispered across the table once the waitress had put down the plate in front of Lisbon and left them.

“What am I thinking?” Lisbon asked, meaning for it to sound like a challenge.

“Do you really want me to answer that?” Jane asked and picked a cheese fry out of the red plastic basket sitting next to Lisbon’s plate.

“Listen, Jane, I’m not in the mood for your games this evening –”

“You were thinking ‘well, did he find the answers in her cleavage?’, and it will surprise you to learn that I did.”

Lisbon could feel her face grow hot with anger and embarrassment. Yes, she had been thinking something along those lines, but she had no idea it had been this obvious. Hearing him say it out loud and confirming her suspicion stung.

“She’s had plastic surgery,” Jane went on. “She killed the boy.”

Sometimes all Lisbon could think about was how much she wanted to punch his smug face. “I’m sure connecting these two sentences makes sense to you, but I’m not seeing what the one thing could possibly have to do with the other.”

“I’ll explain it to you later,” Jane promised. “Finish your dinner first.” He snatched another cheese fry and ate it with relish.

“If what you say is true, then we need to arrest her.”

Jane pulled a face. “I don’t have any actual proof yet; I mean, what you would consider proof.”

“Of course you don’t,” Lisbon sighed.

Another fry was between Jane’s fingers and he held it up in front of Lisbon’s mouth. Lisbon pulled a face and leaned back.

“You ordered that, not me,” Jane reminded her.

“You’re not going to feed me.”

“Well, you’re not eating on your own.”

Lisbon picked up the burger and bit into it with so much force her teeth clattered together, but she kept her eyes on Jane the whole time to show him she _was_ eating. The fry he had been trying to feed her vanished behind his own teeth and she watched it go with something akin to regret; maybe she should have accepted it because he hadn’t expected she’d do it and she would have liked to see the look on his face. But it would have been crossing a line.

“I thought you said you already had dinner,” Lisbon said once she had swallowed the bite.

“You weren’t eating them,” Jane reminded her and helped himself to another fry.

Lisbon pulled the basket closer to her side of the table. “Get your own.”

The table was small, and it was easy for him to reach the fries and help himself to more. Lisbon slapped his hand away.

“Ouch,” he complained, pulling back his hand and rubbing it carefully. “You’re mean.”

The pout on his face looked hilarious and she could feel laughter bubbling up inside her chest when Jane suddenly froze, a look of horror on his face, his mouth half open. His eyes were fixed to a spot behind Lisbon’s left shoulder and she whipped around to see what had terrified him so, but all her eyes caught was an old couple enjoying burgers of their own and a young boy with a milkshake who was focused on his Gameboy.

“Jane, what’s going on?” she asked, turning back around.

The basket of fries had somehow made it across the table and had found a new home in front of Jane.

“I cannot believe you fell for that.” His smile was so bright she had trouble reminding herself she was supposed to be angry with him.

“Give them back,” she demanded.

Jane picked up the basket and held it away from Lisbon so she couldn’t reach. “Say please.”

“You know what, screw you. You keep them.”

“I’m willing to share,” Jane offered.

“They’re _my_ fries.”

“You just said I could keep them.”

Lisbon couldn’t stop herself from laughing any longer. She snorted, which was followed by a hiccup. “You’re infuriating,” she told him with a happy sigh.

Jane looked pleased with himself and put the basket back down.

“Has your research into the town’s many merits also revealed if they have a motel here?” Lisbon asked after a few more bites of burger.

“They do,” Jane nodded. “There’s one.”

“That’s it?”

“It’s plenty, considering that about a hundred people live here.”

Lisbon was reminded again why she didn’t like rural areas. She would have driven back to Sacramento if it hadn’t been a five-hour car ride and if she didn’t still have a case to solve.

“Let’s finish up here and then go and check it out,” she decided.

“How’s the burger?” Jane wanted to know.

“Oh no, you’re not getting a single bite,” Lisbon fended him off.

“I’m just inquiring after the quality of your dinner,” he replied innocently.

“It’s okay.” She shrugged. “I’ve had better.”

“You’re set on hating everything about this town, aren’t you?”

“I’m willing to give it another chance if the motel is nice,” Lisbon granted.

Jane pulled a face. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Why? What do you know?”

“Nothing, I’m just teasing.”

Lisbon finished her burger with trepidation. When she paid for her food, she remembered what Jane had said about the waitress being the killer and she looked at her closely, but couldn’t spot anything out of the ordinary, except that her gold jewelry seemed to be real. That alone wasn’t enough to arrest her though.

“You were looking in the wrong place,” Jane told her while Lisbon got her overnight bag out of the trunk of her car. He was leaning in close so he could speak in a low voice, and she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. She almost pinched her finger when she closed the trunk.

“Where was I supposed to have been looking?” she wanted to know and slung the bag over her shoulder.

“Her eyes,” Jane answered and started walking. Lisbon followed him. “They’re called the windows to the soul for a reason.”

“I think she has friendly eyes,” Lisbon informed him, refusing to let herself be teased again.

“Hm,” Jane made. “Interesting observation.”

“Is it far?” Lisbon wanted to know. It was cold outside, and she was only wearing a light jacket. Her hands were already freezing.

Jane pointed to a dark building in front of them with a small neon sign next to it that read “Mountain View Motel” and an even smaller, illuminated sign next to that which read “vacancy”. Lisbon could feel some of the tension leaving her body. At least there were rooms available and she wouldn’t have to sleep in the car.

Jane held the door to the reception open for her and as soon as she was inside, she stumped her feet and rubbed her hands together, as if she had just escaped the clutches of a howling snow storm. Then she rang the bell on the counter and waited for the receptionist, who turned out to be an older woman with gray hair, slightly overweight, wearing a washed-out black shirt, that had “women want me, fish fear me” written on it, and a sour expression on her face.

She looked from Jane to Lisbon, then said in the most casual tone possible, “You’re a couple, I presume.”

“We’re not,” Lisbon replied curtly, “and we would like two rooms, please.”

“Well, _sweetheart_ ,” the woman said slowly, as if she thought Lisbon would have trouble understanding her, “we’re fully booked.”

“Then why is your sign on?” Lisbon asked.

“We have one room left,” the woman explained, “but since you are looking for two, I cannot help you.”

“How is that possible? Do you only have one room?” Next to her Jane stifled a laugh. “We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Lisbon added to justify her question.

The woman pointed at her shirt and offered her two words as an explanation, “Fishing tournament.”

“Fishing tournament,” Lisbon echoed. This really was the final straw. She would just drive back to Sacramento in the middle of the night and hope she wouldn’t fall asleep behind the wheel.

“One room will be fine,” Jane told the woman and pulled out his wallet. “Thank you.”

She didn’t call him sweetheart, of course, she only had him fill out a form and he complimented her shirt, and then he had the keys to a room in his hand, and Lisbon felt irritated because he had just decided for her what they should do, but she was also grateful he had taken that decision off her hands.

Jane led the way along a long, wooden porch until they reached the last room; he unlocked the door and switched on the light, then waited for Lisbon to look around. Lisbon didn’t like what she was seeing, and she thought the town had had it as far as she was concerned. The floors were covered with a blue carpet with a disturbing pattern that made her feel dizzy, it smelled moldy and damp, it was just as cold in the room as it was outside, and there was just one bed. Not even an additional couch. Just a single, queen-sized bed.

“Well, this won’t do,” Lisbon decided and took the key from Jane. “I’m going back to complain. She has to put us in another room.”

Jane closed the door before Lisbon could step back outside. “You heard her … fishing tournament.”

“Then I’m going to sleep in the car,” Lisbon decided. “You can have the bed.”

Jane laughed. “That’s what’s bothering you? I’m going to sleep on the floor, don’t worry about it.”

“No, it’s not bothering me.”

Yes, it was bothering her, much more than the smelly room and the ugly carpet and the cold air. The thought of sharing a bed with Jane was making her so panicky that all she could think about was escaping. She had no idea why it should be an issue, they weren’t strangers, but it felt too personal, too intimate, and she wasn’t very good where these areas were concerned. She tried to push past Jane to get out of the room, but Jane put a hand on her arm.

“I’ll sleep in the car,” he said. “I don’t mind.”

“No, I don’t want you to sleep in the car.”

“What do you want?”

“I …” She paused, thinking about it. “I want us each to have our own room with our own bed and to get a good night’s sleep. I don’t want you to sleep in the car or on the floor.”

“If you don’t want either of these things, then I’ll have to sleep in the bed,” Jane pointed out.

Lisbon glanced at the item of furniture in question and then back at him. “It’s too late and I’m too cold and tired,” she informed him, not sure why she was saying these things. There was no reason behind it, it was just how she was feeling on a superficial level. How she was feeling several levels deeper down was none of Jane’s business.

“Go and have a hot shower,” Jane ordered her softly. “I’ll see what I can do about the rooms. Maybe she’ll find us another one after all.”

His voice sounded tentative, defeated almost. Lisbon felt so bad about it she lowered her gaze so she wouldn’t have to see if his tone matched the look in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. Then she added, “It’s a big bed; there’s room for the both of us.”

It shouldn’t be a problem. They were friends, and had been colleagues for several years before that. The thought of them falling asleep and waking up in the same bed shouldn’t bother her so much, but she had a feeling that it had something to do with why she always felt irritated when he flirted with other women. And it _was_ late, and she _was_ cold and tired, too cold and tired to examine what it all meant.

“Lisbon, I can sleep on the floor, it’s not that big of a deal,” Jane assured her again.

“No,” she said firmly, suddenly coming to a decision. “I want you to sleep in the bed. With me.” Then, realizing how it sounded, she clarified, “I mean next to me. I want you to sleep on one side of the bed and I’m going to sleep on the other side.”

Jane looked at her, still unsure for a couple of seconds, then nodded. “I hope you don’t snore,” he said.

Lisbon felt relief wash over her. “I bet you snore,” she shot back.

“You have to be asleep to be able to snore and I don’t sleep that much.”

“If you keep me awake tossing and turning all night long, I’m going to kick you,” Lisbon promised.

“Well, you insisted on me sleeping in the bed,” Jane pointed out.

Lisbon decided not to dignify this with an answer. “I’m going to take a shower,” she said, walking toward the bathroom.

“You always give up so readily,” Jane called after her. “Don’t make it so easy for me to win every time.”

Lisbon turned on the shower and while she waited for the water to get warm, she called outside, “It’s not my fault you always have to have the last word.” Then she shut the bathroom door with a loud bang to drown out the sound of Jane’s reply.

* * *

When she came back outside, her wet hair piled on top of her head wrapped in a towel, wearing the big jersey she always kept in her overnight bag, she found Jane sitting on the bed on top of the duvet watching TV. He was still wearing his trousers and his shirt, but his jacket and vest lay neatly folded on a small chair next to the door. For some reason, the sight of him like this, relaxed, TV remote in hand, watching some late-night talk show made Lisbon’s heart race with longing. It had been years since she had thought about these small domestic things, but for a minute she allowed herself to imagine coming home from a long day at work to find Jane on the couch like this, and she had to swallow quickly to get rid of the lump in her throat. She couldn’t want this, not from him, it wasn’t fair to either of them.

“Are you going to stand there all night or are you coming to bed?” Jane asked casually while changing the channel.

He wasn’t even looking at her when he said it but hearing him utter the words _are you coming to bed_ made her swallow again, albeit for different reasons this time. Surely, he hadn’t meant it like that, but even without the implication it still made it impossible for Lisbon to refuse him. She crossed the space between the bathroom door and the edge of the bed, lifted the duvet on her side of the bed – the side not currently occupied by Jane, the Jane-free side, not necessarily _her_ side, there was no _his and her_ – and climbed inside.

Then she jumped back up again when her legs touched something hot.

“What _is_ that?” she asked, risking a careful glance under the duvet.

“Hot-water bottle,” Jane answered. “You said you were cold.”

This gesture wasn’t helping to keep down these new feelings this situation was forcing her to discover. He had no right being this considerate, he had no business treating her with so much courtesy after she had almost freaked out at the thought of having to share a bed with him.

“Thank you,” she said because she had no idea what to tell him. She climbed into bed again and lifted the hot-water bottle to lie on her stomach. Then her eyes came to rest on her nightstand where she discovered a steaming mug. “And what’s that?” she asked.

“Hot chocolate,” Jane answered in the same monotone voice. “Again, because you said you were cold.”

His eyes were glued to the TV screen, but there was a spark in them that couldn’t simply be explained by the reflection of the wildlife documentary he was currently watching. Lisbon picked up the mug and took a sip. It wasn’t just instant hot chocolate, but real one, made with real melted chocolate and milk. Only the marshmallows were missing.

Jane seemed to guess her thoughts. “They didn’t have any marshmallows.”

“What are you doing?” she asked him carefully, the mug resting on her lap, gripped tightly by her hands that were shaking slightly. _It’s the cold_ , she told herself, ignoring the fact that she hadn’t felt cold since coming out of the bathroom.

“Watching TV,” Jane answered. “We can change the channel if there’s something else you would like to see.”

“No, I mean this.” She carefully raised the mug so she wouldn’t spill hot chocolate all over the bed.

For the first time since she had come out of the bathroom, Jane took his eyes off the TV. He looked at the mug first, then let his gaze wander up her arms until it came to rest on her face. “You were cold,” he answered slowly. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t anymore.”

Lisbon shook her head. “You don’t have to make such a fuss. I’m a big girl, I can handle a little cold weather.”

“Oh, I was solely thinking about myself,” Jane assured her. “I’m always the one who has to suffer when you’re in a bad mood.”

“I should be angry with you despite all of this,” Lisbon said, “but I really appreciate it.”

Jane raised his eyebrows and turned his attention back to the TV.

“Aren’t you going to change?” Lisbon asked after five minutes of silence during which she had taken the occasional sip of hot chocolate.

“I didn’t think it would take us this long to solve the case, so I didn’t bring anything with me,” Jane admitted. “But it’s fine, I usually sleep like this anyway.”

Lisbon looked at his trousers and his shirt that was still buttoned up, and she wanted to tell him it was fine if he wanted to undress to be more comfortable, but he noticed her gaze on him before she could get the words out.

“Teresa!” he said in mock-surprise. “That’s not very Catholic of you.”

“I don’t know what you think I’m thinking, but it’s not _that_ ,” Lisbon told him firmly. Her cheeks were growing hot, but she could blame the hot-water bottle for that.

“You were thinking about asking me to take off my trousers,” Jane clarified.

“Wait …” Lisbon was surprised. “Yes, I actually was thinking about that.” She was quickly growing tired of him guessing all her personal thoughts. “It’s just … you did everything so I would be comfortable, I don’t want you to feel like it would be bothering me if you got comfortable, too.”

Jane smirked at her, and if she hadn’t been holding a hot drink while sitting under a thick duvet with a hot-water bottle on her lap, it would have sent a shiver down her spine.

“We should sleep,” she mumbled.

“Sure.” Jane yawned. “I am a bit tired.”

While he switched off the TV, Lisbon put down the mug on her nightstand, then looked around for a light switch.

“The one next to the door is the only one,” Jane told her. “I’ll get it.”

He stood up and walked over to the door. Once the light was turned off, it was almost pitch-black in the room, except for a dim, blue light that was shining in through the window next to the entrance. Lisbon watched as Jane unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers and took them off, again folding them neatly, before climbing into bed next to her. Then she turned around, so she had her back to him, and tried to breathe calmly.

She found it to be impossible.

Jane was lying next to her; she could hear him breathe and every time he moved the duvet rustled. She couldn’t even pretend the bed was empty. And with the darkness and the stillness came her fears; she was used to sleeping alone, she moved around during the night, and she was terrified of coming too close to Jane, of touching him in her sleep, of embarrassing herself even further. Her senses were heightened; she could smell the hot chocolate, she could feel the body close to hers, she could hear Jane’s shallow breathing, could hear the air entering his body, cold and moist, and leaving it warmed up. She should probably say something, tell him good night, but all she could think about was his proximity to her, how turning around to her other side would bring her face to face with him, and how this shouldn’t be a big deal, but it was enormous, it was the only thing occupying her mind. She didn’t even worry about the case anymore.

“You’re going to hyperventilate.” Jane’s voice cut through the stillness like a hot knife through butter, smooth and quick and unexpected.

Lisbon flinched. “What?” she asked.

“You’re breathing like you've just run a marathon,” Jane elaborated. “You’re not going to fall asleep like that.”

“I’m fine,” Lisbon protested. Even with the lights switched off Jane could still sense her inner turmoil.

“I’ll make sure the wolves won’t get you if you promise me to breathe deeply for a couple of minutes,” Jane said. He moved around, and Lisbon guessed he was now facing her back.

“There aren’t any wolves in California,” Lisbon pointed out.

“Sure there are,” Jane contradicted her. “They come down from Oregon, looking for their prey.” He dropped his voice to a low growl. “They prowl through the forest, silently, deadly, their eyes glowing in the dark, their paws leaving a trail in the wet soil. They are looking for fresh meat, for soft meat. They are intelligent, some of the most intelligent predators on the planet; it is said they even know how to open doors. They open them with their big paws, their fangs bared, their tongues wetting their lips, anticipating the smell of fresh blood, eager for a taste of it, bringing a short but sweet relief to their ever-hungry hearts. They are so close, you can almost hear them creeping around the house, their claws tapping against the wooden porch, a low growl in their throats, getting ready to pounce.”

And then Lisbon heard it, the low growl, and she froze. Instead of breathing too fast, there was no air entering her body now as she waited to hear that same sound again, waited to see if it had just been her imagination or if there really was a wolf outside. The growl came a second time and she felt cold fear settling over her, drowning her. She had no idea where she had put her gun, but she needed to get it right now. The third growl sounded much closer than the previous two had and it made her freeze again, all thoughts of her weapon forgotten. Then Jane’s hands were on her, pinching her sides, her thighs, tickling her, and she heard the growl again, only it sounded much more human this time.

Lisbon shrieked and fought against Jane’s hands, tried to push them away, tried to gain the upper hand, but Jane only grabbed her wrists and pinned her down.

“They’re going to get you,” he whispered.

Lisbon tore herself free. “God, I really hate you, Jane.”

He let himself fall back down onto his side of the bed with a breathy laugh. “No, but seriously, there is a gray wolf in California,” he continued their conversation as if nothing had happened. “His name is Journey, but I don’t think he would be interested in eating you, you’re not very tasty to a wolf.”

Lisbon tried to sound offended when she said, “I’m not?”

She pulled the duvet around herself again, then leaned out of the bed to retrieve the hot-water bottle from the floor. It had fallen down while she had struggled against Jane. Then she dropped down on her back and stared up at the dark ceiling.

“Well, I would have to taste you to determine if you are firm and juicy, the way wolves like their prey,” Jane continued. 

“You’re not resorting to cannibalism to prove a point,” Lisbon told him off, but she couldn’t help but wonder why it had sounded so odd when he had said it, almost as if he hadn’t meant it as a joke, as if he really was considering it.

“Who said anything about cannibalism?”

Lisbon let the sentence hang in the air above the bed, as did Jane. It was late, _very_ late, they’d both had an exhausting day, and they were in a situation neither of them was familiar with. Of course, they were saying things to each other they wouldn’t usually say or doing things they wouldn’t usually do. They were trying to get through this night so they would still be able to look each other in the eye tomorrow morning.

“How would you like me to breathe?” Lisbon asked finally.

“Do you trust me?” Jane asked.

“Why?” Lisbon asked cautiously.

“I need you to do as I say if you want this to work,” Jane said with emphasis. “You need to relax and not worry about embarrassing yourself.”

“I don’t worry about that,” Lisbon said immediately.

“Anyway,” Jane went on, “just relax. Try to let go, let yourself sink into the mattress.”

“Are you going to tickle me again?”

Jane chuckled. “No, trust me.”

Lisbon inhaled sharply. “Okay, I’m relaxing.” She tried, she really did, but Jane’s closeness to her, his warm body just a brush of hands away, didn’t help.

If Jane noticed she wasn’t relaxing properly, he didn’t comment on it. “Now part your lips very gently,” he continued, “and don’t worry about looking stupid. It’s too dark, I can’t see you.”

Lisbon did as she was told, hoping Jane was telling the truth and didn’t have some superhuman night vision she didn’t know about.

“Now push all the air from your lungs, breathe out loudly, and fast,” was the next step in Jane’s routine. “Then press your lips together firmly and inhale through your nose. Count to four and stop.”

Lisbon tried to follow the orders, but already failed step one. She breathed out quietly, not daring to make any sounds.

“Lisbon,” Jane said. It sounded like a warning. “Breathe out properly now or I _will_ tickle you again.”

Lisbon tried again, allowing the air to flow from her mouth with a swooshing sound, and Jane seemed to be satisfied because he kept quiet until she was holding her breath.

“Hold your breath and count to seven,” he went on, “then exhale for eight seconds, but loudly, not like you’re trying to keep quiet because you’re hiding in a dark corner to catch a suspect red-handed.”

Lisbon snorted. “You’re the one who always wants to do that,” she reminded him.

“Less talking, more breathing,” Jane ordered.

Lisbon tried again and this time she got through all the steps without any difficulty.

“What now?” she wanted to know.

“Just repeat that a couple of times and you’ll fall asleep right away,” Jane answered and stifled a yawn. “I’m going to try and sleep too.” He moved and suddenly he was so close to her she could feel his breath against her skin, followed by his lips brushing a soft kiss against her cheek. “Good night, Lisbon.”

Suddenly, it was very difficult to focus on breathing.

* * *

She must have fallen asleep somehow because the next thing she was conscious of was a scream that woke her. Jane’s arms were wrapped around her immediately and his hand was in her hair, softly petting her. Then she realized it hand been her who had made the sound.

“It’s okay, you’re okay, you’re safe,” he whispered. And, “It’s just a dream.”

She felt tears on her cheek and wiped them away angrily, embarrassed because Jane had to see her in such a vulnerable state. Then she remembered where she was, in a motel room close to the border to Oregon, in a town that hated everything about her, from the top of her head down to the soles on her shoes, and that she was currently sharing a bed with Jane, who had been trying to make this whole experience more bearable by making her laugh and calming her down. There was no need to feel embarrassed in front of him.

“It’s my mom,” she whispered, offering this as an explanation, knowing if anyone would understand, it would be the man who was currently holding onto her for dear life.

“You dream about her often, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Lisbon admitted. “Usually after I’ve had an exhausting day.” She rolled her shoulders to signal to Jane that it was all right if he wanted to let go of her, but Jane made no move to do so.

“I dream about them when it’s too quiet,” he confessed out of the blue.

Lisbon froze. He seldom talked about the family he had lost, and when he did it was usually for a very good reason. In this case, the reason was to calm her and show her she wasn’t alone, that it was normal to be haunted by the ghosts of the people you had loved and lost, especially in the middle of the night. Her chest suddenly hurt with longing, with the need to show him she appreciated his honesty, how much it meant to her he was letting her in like this, but she wasn’t good with words.

“I can talk to you until you’re asleep,” she offered carefully.

She could hear a small laugh vibrating in his chest. “You’re sweet,” he said, “but it’s not that kind of quiet. I’m talking about a quietness in my mind. When I don’t have anything to think about, no puzzle to solve, nothing to occupy my thoughts with, then my brain conjures them up and makes me relive the most painful memories, the happy ones and the horrible ones.”

“What about tonight?” Lisbon asked carefully. “Is it too quiet?”

Jane shook his head. “No, I have one or two problems to solve.”

“Oh?” Lisbon made. “I thought you had already figured out who murdered that boy.”

Jane pulled a face. “I didn’t say it was about the case.”

Lisbon felt nervous suddenly. She knew she was reading too much into it, but she wanted to believe that the problem that was occupying Jane’s mind tonight was her. “I only ever dream about her death,” Lisbon said before she could stop herself. “I dream about the police officer coming to our door, telling my dad what happened, about him breaking down in front of us, about …” Her voice gave in and a dry sob escaped her throat instead.

“Is that what you were dreaming about?” Jane asked softly.

“I guess,” Lisbon answered. “I don’t actually remember.”

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, then let go of her.

Lisbon missed his embrace, his arms around her, holding her tightly, but this way she could see his face in the dim, blue light. “For what?” she asked.

“That you had to go through all this,” Jane answered. He squeezed her shoulder. “You don’t deserve that.”

Lisbon felt warmth wash over her, so powerful it kept the cold night air at bay. “No one should have to go through something like that,” she murmured.

“Yes,” he agreed, “I can’t comfort everyone though, but I can comfort you.”

Jane brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear and she pressed her cheek into his hand without thinking about it

“Jane,” she breathed softly.

“Hm?” he made.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she went on. “I’m usually alone when this happens.”

She only now realized how nice it was to be held while she calmed down and to have someone she could talk to about her dreams, someone who knew what she as going through. It made the thought of falling asleep again bearable; maybe this time she wouldn’t lie awake until the first morning light would chase away her demons.

“You can always call me, you know,” Jane offered, “if you need someone to talk to, that is.”

“What if I need more than that?” she dared to ask.

“Then I’ll come over to your place, no questions asked,” Jane said with a firm nod.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” Lisbon apologized, mostly because she wanted to hide how happy Jane’s offer made her feel.

“I wasn’t asleep anyway,” Jane said with a shrug.

“Do you maybe want to breathe deeply for a couple of minutes?” Lisbon teased him.

“Come on,” Jane said, and lay back down, pulling her with him.

Lisbon froze, lying awkwardly on top of his arm, her shoulder pressing against his elbow, and he had to wriggle free from under her body. They were lying face to face now, her heart beating rapidly again, and not because of her nightmare, while his eyes were glued to hers.

“I –,” Lisbon started, but he interrupted her.

“It’s still the middle of the night. We should try and sleep some more.”

“Yeah,” Lisbon agreed. Then, just to see what it would feel like, she leaned forward to kiss Jane’s cheek, just like he had kissed hers earlier, but it was so dark that she miscalculated the distance and the location of the spot she was aiming for, and landed on the corner of his mouth instead. Embarrassment washed over her in red, hot waves, but she tried to act as if it had been on purpose, and she whispered, “Good night,” before she turned back around to face away from him.

* * *

Gray light was shining in through the window when Lisbon opened her eyes again. It was almost morning; the first birds were singing, and she could hear a car drive past in the distance. Only then did she realize that she was lying pressed against Jane’s back, an arm slung across his chest, her legs tangled with his. Panic flooded her. It was her worst nightmare come true, the one thing she had been afraid of. This was more embarrassing than kissing the wrong part of Jane’s face, more embarrassing than waking up crying, than having a breakdown because she had to share a bed him with. And the worst part was that she was enjoying it; she enjoyed feeling his side lift as he breathed in, enjoyed feeling his coarse legs rubbing against her smooth ones, enjoyed the way his curls tickled her nose. She hoped he was asleep – he was breathing calmly, but it was impossible to tell with him – because if he caught her cuddled up to him like this, she would never hear the end of it.

Even though her body wanted her to stay close to his warm skin, his steady breathing, his strong heartbeat, her mind knew she had to move as soon as possible if she wanted to save herself from embarrassment. She tried rolling onto her back carefully without waking him up, but as soon as she began to move, his hand closed around her wrist with an iron grip.

“No, stay,” he demanded, his voice raw with sleep. “Please,” he added.

She couldn’t have refused him, even if she had wanted to. So she relaxed against his back and closed her eyes. Jane squeezed her hand and moved his shoulders to get more comfortable. Lisbon used this opportunity to press a kiss to the nape of his neck, earning her a content hum. She knew she had crossed a line, but they were both half-asleep, so it didn’t matter; they wouldn’t remember it anyway come morning.

* * *

“Lisbon.” It was a whisper, but it was enough to pull her out of her sleep.

She grunted and tried to turn away from Jane, who was kneeling in front of the bed, one hand softly on her shoulder.

“Lisbon, wake up. There’s something I want to show you,” he insisted.

“What?” she asked, her eyes barely open. It still wasn’t day, but it had gotten lighter outside again.

“Come on, get up.”

He was like a puppy, insisting she should get up and let him out. He poked her shoulder, her sides, even her cheek until she gave in with a groan and sat up. Jane pulled back the duvet, but immediately slung his jacket around her naked arms, so she was wearing it like a cape.

“It’s cold outside,” he explained. “Your shoes are here.”

Slowly, she slipped them on while keeping a tight grip on Jane’s jacket. “This better be important,” she scolded him.

“It is,” he insisted.

He took her hand and led her outside onto the porch that connected their room to all the others. Outside, it smelled of a new day, of dew and pine trees and wet earth. It was freezing, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable cold; it was refreshing, invigorating, and finally got Lisbon to open her eyes. The first thing she saw was Jane, his curls sticking up at odd angles, his shirt buttoned up the wrong way, his trousers creased and crumpled, even though he had taken such care to fold them the previous evening, a cup of steaming coffee in hand, and a big smile on his face. Lisbon wanted to reach up and fix his shirt, but she decided caffeine was a priority.

“It’s not from the diner, is it?” she asked carefully.

Jane shook his head.

“So, what’s so important?” she asked, happily inhaling the hot steam rising up from her coffee.

“Look over there,” Jane said, pointing at the space between two mountaintops.

Lisbon could already see it: the top of the sun, slowly rising past the mountains up into the sky, a bright, orange glow that turned lighter with each passing minute. Around them, birds were beginning to sing, and when Lisbon looked at the sky, she saw a big, dark shape that looked suspiciously like a bald eagle. It all felt too good to be true, somehow. It was romantic, yes, and she moved closer to Jane, so their arms were brushing while she watched the sun rise, the crisp morning air making her feel dizzy, her proximity to Jane making her palms sweat, but something was off. It all seemed somehow orchestrated.

“Jane?” she asked carefully.

“Hm?” he made.

“That fishing tournament …”

He sounded surprised when he said, “Yes?”

“I thought the motel was fully booked,” Lisbon reminded him, “and yet the parking lot is empty.”

“It’s best to get started early when you go fishing. They probably already left,” Jane answered with a shrug.

“No one starts that early. They should all be leaving right about now,” Lisbon insisted. “But there’s no one here. And there’s no fishing tournament, is there?”

Jane cleared his throat.

“Jane?” Lisbon asked again, more guarded than careful. “Did you do this?”

“I wanted to make sure you got a good night’s sleep,” Jane said quickly. “And I wouldn’t have been able to keep an eye on you had we slept in separate rooms.”

“You are …,” Lisbon started angrily, but she had no idea how to finish the sentence. “I would have been able to sleep much better if you hadn’t tickled me or told me scary stories about wolves or had woken me up at five in the morning to look at the sunrise.” _But you held me after I woke up from the nightmare and made sure I didn’t freeze to death and you wanted to show me one of those famous sunrises while sipping coffee with me_.

“Yeah,” Jane made.

He put down his own mug, and she could smell the smoky flavor of his favorite tea, then stepped behind Lisbon and slung his arms around her, resting his chin on her head.

“Jane, what are you doing?” she asked nervously, feeling her shoulders tense. It wasn’t dark anymore, it was day, and they shouldn’t be doing this, they should maintain a professional distance, not stand so close together, watching one of nature’s most raw spectacles while wearing each other’s clothes. Lisbon tried to shrug off Jane and his jacket at the same time, but he only pulled her closer.

“Let’s pretend for a little while longer,” he whispered close to her ear.

Her breath caught in her throat. “What are we pretending?” she asked.

She should be angry with him for tricking her, for setting this all up for his own personal gain. But that’s where her anger stopped because she couldn’t tell what he was gaining from this. All he had done had been for her sake, not his. He hadn’t used her, he hadn’t pulled a prank on her; it wasn’t about him for once, it was about her.

“Jane?” she made for a third time this morning.

“Shhh,” was his response.

She raised his hand and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles, the third time in a few hours that her lips touched his bare skin.

“Would you like to continue pretending over breakfast?” she asked. “Maybe the tea at the diner isn’t as horrible as their coffee.”

He sighed deeply, his breath tickling the top of her head. “I have it on good authority that their eggs are edible,” he agreed.


End file.
